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He chuckles as I step off the dock and head into town.
I mostly cameover to Cape Harbor for some air and some space. But, while I’m here, I might as well grab some supplies.
I load up on groceries I think we might need off the top of my head, along with some fabric softener, and chocolate.
For me.
Then, bags in hand, I head back towards the dock. A shadow crosses my face as I walk past the liquor store.
Nope. Not doing it. If he’s out of booze back home, so fucking be it.
I continue, and I’m passing The Clam Shack when the door opens and Mitch—the gruff old bartender I once knew as “Gray Beard”—steps out.
“Supply run, huh?”
“Yep, needed a little glimpse of society too, I think.”
He smirks, folding his arms over his chest. His gaze drops to my bags of groceries, and he frowns.
“Skipping the liquor store this run?”
My mouth thins.
“Yep.”
“Hmm.”
I clear my throat. “Well, gotta get back. Good seeing you, Mitch—”
“Hey, Melody?”
I turn back to him, raising a brow as he sighs and shoves a hand through his gray hair.
“I’m just gonna say something.”
My brow furrows. “Okay?”
“Robbie needs help.”
My brows go up. It’s maybe the last thing I would have expected him to say.
“What?”
“Help. With his drinking. You seem like a bright kid. I know you see it.”
I look away, nodding quietly.
“Look, this isn’t my place to say, but I’m saying it anyway. He does need help. But he can’t just quit cold.”
He eyes me coolly.
“My mom had a problem, too. Believe me, I’ve looked at liquor stores and walked past ‘em the same way I just saw you do it. But you can’t just cut someone off. I don’t mean because it’s not nice. I mean because if you drink as much as Robbie does, quitting cold turkey is real dangerous.”
My mouth goes small as I nod quietly.
“I know this seems ass-backwards with me running a bar and all. But I know some people who could help him take those first steps. If he ever wants.”
I smile wryly as I nod.
